Color
by Drown Me In Blue
Summary: It's that stupid kimono that catches his eye first. They're all strange and somber, each monochromatic. He's not, though—he's bright, showy, eye-catching, and Ichigo can't help but notice him.


**Pairing: **_Shunsui Kyoraku x Ichigo Kurosaki_

**Music:** Adore Adore_, by Yoav_

**Word count:** ~ 2000

**Rating:** T

**A/N: **_This is for _**Felnore**_, who also left very lovely reviews, and asked for this pairing. _

* * *

_**Prompt 26: **__Color_

* * *

It it's that stupid kimono that catches his eye first.

He's still an enemy, then—still fighting them. But not _him_. For all he stands with the other captains, shoulder-to-shoulder with the Captain-Commander, he's not _one of them_.

They're all strange and somber, each monochromatic in his or her black and white robes and black and white _haori_.

_He's_ not, though—he's bright, showy, eye-catching in a woman's flowery pink kimono, like a splash of blood in a black-and-white movie. Ichigo can't help but notice him, even when his attention should be firmly on other things, even when faced with all of his opponents in one neat knot before him.

_This man,_ he thinks, watching the small smile the brightly robed captain is giving him, _this man is different._

It's a good kind of different, too. Even during his battle with Byakuya, Ichigo can feel the man's reiatsu building and bursting, like a raging river trapped too long behind a dam, and thinks it again.

_This man is different_.

It's not solely the choice in wardrobe, though that's a part of the impression. Nor is it solely the fact that he was merciful, and honorable, and didn't want to fight in his battle with Chad—though that last one helps greatly, especially hearing Inoue's stories about the crazy Twelfth Division captain. Ichigo understands not wanting to fight. He understands wanting to keep it as a last resort.

He _approves_, most definitely. If he had a choice, he would be just as happy not fighting, really.

But he hasn't been given that choice.

And then there's the whole catastrophe with that traitor Aizen and the other captains defecting, and everyone is shocked and horrified and stunned, because _of course_ this has never happened before, and _of course_ Soul Society is infallible, and there's _no way_ Aizen will get away with this for long.

(_He already has_, Ichigo thinks, _for_ _**years**_.)

And Ichigo is still recovering, because even Inoue's healing can't completely deal with getting _cut in half_ yet, and he has to be taken to the Fourth Division with the scary-creepy Captain Unohana, who he's willing to be could cow even that crazy fucker Kenpachi. He has no more time to think before he's being doped up with something and is out like a light.

When he next wakes up, it's to birdsong, a sun that's way too bright beating against his brain through his closed eyelids, and a strong feeling that something small, furry, and filthy died in his mouth a week ago. _Ugh_. He grimaces, tries to remember where the hell he is and why the hell he isn't back in his bed at home or lying wounded in a sewer somewhere, and gets a blurry collection of half-remembered impressions before he gives up and groans.

A soft chuckle surprises him, and he manages to pry one eyelid open to glare at the man in the chair next to his bed.

All he can see is pink.

(_It's not that bad a color, really_, he thinks, recalling the same shade of pink from somewhere else—somewhere important. Some_thing_ important.)

The brightly patterned blob shifts for a moment, and then the room becomes blessedly dim. The blob—which he can now see is actually a woman's kimono draped over the average captain's outfit—resettles next to him and says kindly, "The stuff Retsu-chan gives is awful, and I sympathize. Would you like some water, now that we're not enemies any more?"

Ichigo manages to pry his other eyelid up and nod faintly. "Yes," he manages, though it sounds far closer to a groaning croak than the word it's supposed to be.

The captain just chuckles again, and puts an arm behind his shoulders so that he can drink. It hurts—even _breathing _hurts, right now—but Ichigo is too grateful to be ashamed of his weakness or resentful of the pain. The cool water slides down his throat like _bliss_, and even though he's only allowed a few sips, it's enough to make him feel human again.

(_Mostly_, Ichigo thinks distantly, _because I'm not really human anymore, am I?_)

"Thank you," he says, when the man lets him lie down again—because, despite what people seem to think, his mother _did_ teach him manners. He just doesn't feel like using them very often.

The man smiles at him, oddly cheery against the backdrop of this sterile hospital room, and pats him on the shoulder. "Mah, it's nothing," he dismisses easily. "After all, Juu-chan would have been heartbroken if the execution went through, and I couldn't stand to see that. We're in your debt, boy."

(There's a softness in his eyes that Ichigo can't identify, but he _wants_ it. He hasn't _wanted_ anything in a very long time.)

Ichigo looks at him with eyes that are stripped clear with exhaustion, and the memories click into place. He smiles back, just slightly. "You helped destroy the Sōkyoku."

"You remember." The other man looks just shy of delighted, and grins widely. With a wink, he says, "It's the least Juu-chan and I could do for a pretty boy like yourself." Tipping the _sakkat_ he wears, he offers Ichigo one last, warm glance and saunters out of the room, whistling.

Ichigo finds, once the captain is gone, that he is blushing like he has never done before, even with Yoruichi, and curses the captain's warm grey eyes as a nurse comes in to fuss over him.

* * *

It's their first real meeting—but it's not their last. The captain—_Shunsui Kyoraku_, Unohana said he was—finds him wherever he seems to be, seems to know where Ichigo is headed better than he does himself. First, it seems like coincidence, chance encounters, but then it starts happening more and more frequently, and with fewer excuses.

(_That old saying,_ Ichigo thinks, watching the captain emerge from a rabbit's warren of alleys directly in front of him. _Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action_.)

Well, this isn't exactly _enemy action_, but it's still unnerving, because Kyoraku is tall and handsome and so self-assured that it should be _illegal_, and his eyes—

(_His eyes could eat a man alive._)

Ichigo hears that people consider Shunsui Kyoraku the laziest, most laid-back captain in Soul Society. This makes him wonder how many of them have ever actually looked him in the eye, seen the deep grey lighten to stormy silver, felt the _intensity_ that's contained in even the most fleeting glance. Kyoraku might seem to be calm and easygoing, but a tiger seems the same way, right up until the moment it tears out your throat.

But, for all of that, Kyoraku isn't terrifying. He _should_ be, of course, but something in Ichigo makes the substitute shinigami suspect that he was born with his brains just a little bit jostled—the only thing he's ever been afraid of is losing someone. He's never been afraid of a man, and certainly not _this_ man, with his big soldier's hands and his soft smile and his gentle words. Not even of his eyes, though such intensity is enough to drive a sane man mad.

(Ichigo's never really been all that sane, though, and those eyes simply draw him in like no other.)

The _way_ he talks, too—as though he's expecting Ichigo to see something beneath the words he's given, expecting Ichigo to extract some information he can't quite grasp. It's _maddening_, for Ichigo far more than Kyoraku, but they both keep trying.

(_It's important_, Ichigo acknowledges, watching the captain of the Eighth Division walk away. _So important. And I __**want to know**_.)

And then, out of the blue, Ichigo gets it. Between one second and the next, the pieces slide together smoothly, and he _understands_.

Kyoraku looks at him the same way Renji looks at Rukia when she's particularly lovely, though without the added edge of puppy adoration. And Ichigo finds himself _flattered_.

When Kyoraku next appears, this time at the edge of Ukitake's pond, Ichigo looks up at him somewhat helplessly and asks, "Now what?"

(Because he knows what he feels for this tall, strong, sweetly charming man, but he also knows just how different their worlds are, and what place children hold in Kyoraku's view, and he doesn't want to simply be told that he's too young, or too inexperienced. He is, but then again, he's also _not_.)

After all, he's still human, for all his power, and he still has family in the world of the living, and there's still Aizen to deal with. This isn't the end, and it can hardly be the middle of anything, but maybe…

(Maybe it can still be a beginning.)

And Kyoraku looks at him, and smiles that easy, lazy smile, and says, "Don't rush yourself. I'm just expressing interest. Go back, have a good life, and die happy. And when you get here the right way, I'll still be waiting for you."

With that, he kisses Ichigo. Lightly, softly. Then he turns and walks away, and Ichigo doesn't know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

(Because it's not enough, even at the same time as it's too much—it divides his loyalty too much.)

He settles for feeling both, and heads for the Eleventh. If he picks a fight with Ikkaku—or, Heaven forbid, Kenpachi—everything will be simpler.

Not forever, maybe, but at least for now, and now is all he has ever had.

* * *

Of course, it hardly goes like Kyoraku predicts. Ichigo is dragged into the Winter War, and eventually right to Aizen's doorstep in Hueco Mundo.

He's easier to kill than Ichigo thought he would be, even if Ichigo does end up dying in the process. Even would-be gods, it seems, can't stand against a pissy Hollow in Vast Lordes form (though Ichigo is hardly going to test that hypothesis—Kurotsuchi is already talking about experimentation, and Ichigo's Hollow is gloating enough for the both of them. Not that Ichigo ever gloats, really, but the sentiment is still there).

But, in the end, Ichigo is booted right back to Soul Society, memories intact and temper fraying, to be met with the surprised stares of the rescue team the Captain-Commander had been just about to dispatch. Ichigo, in what he feels is a fit of well-deserved pique, tosses the Hōgyoku at the old man's feet, glares at him, and snaps, "Great timing."

(It always is, and while Ichigo is sure he should have gotten over it by now, he's still annoyed, and will probably always be—especially since this shinigami thing seems to be _permanent_ now.)

At the edge of the group, Kyoraku starts laughing, and comes forward to wrap an arm around Ichigo's shoulders and pull him close.

"Not quite what I had in mind when I said we would wait," he says, and in that moment his smile and those pewter-grey eyes are all that exist in Ichigo's world. He winks, and grins, and leans in for their second kiss, murmuring, "But I think it will do."

And then Ukitake is laughing and Nanao is shaking her head and the Captain-Commander is sighing, but Ichigo doesn't see any of them, because Kyoraku's—_Shunsui's_—mouth is on his, and he tastes like sake and the steamed buns he always eats, and the scruff of beard on Ichigo's face tickles and scrapes but feels good. But, mostly, it's just _Shunsui_, and that makes it the best kiss in the world.

(Even though Ichigo doesn't have a whole lot to compare it to, he's still pretty sure that it ranks right up there with the very best of all time.)

And then Shunsui's arms are fully around him, and that's even better, and the rest of the world ceases to exist.


End file.
